


what a dangerous game we play

by BlackBlood1872



Series: Paper Thin [1]
Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Overhearing Sex, Unresolved Sexual Tension, and they were ROOMMATES
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-25 16:17:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20028709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackBlood1872/pseuds/BlackBlood1872
Summary: The walls of Ben's apartment are practically paper thin.Ben likes that a lot more than he probably should.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank everyone in the Samben discord. Y'all are enablers and I love ya

The walls in Ben’s apartment are paper thin. This means that they can hear when the other has a nightmare, or hear when they get up and wander about during the night. It makes conversations during the day harder to escape, because Sammy can always hear him when Ben starts asking him questions he doesn’t want to answer.

It also means they can each hear _everything_ from their rooms, not just restless sleep. Or perhaps, to phrase it delicately, they can hear a _different_ sort of restless sleep.

Sammy hasn’t gotten off since he moved in. He thinks he’s dying.

Ben, however, does _not_ have this problem. Sammy knows. He’s _heard_.

(Heat pools in his gut when he thinks about it, about the _sounds_ he’s heard, Ben’s voice, so enticing and only a few steps away… and he has to think of something else before he does something he'll regret.)

(Sammy doesn’t know if he _would_ regret it.)

(That’s what scares him the most.)

* * *

The walls of his apartment are way too thin. Ben is aware of this, but there’s nothing he can do about it, and it was fine. Well, it was fine until Sammy moved in and added a bunch of new noises to daily life. Until he tries to fall asleep and can’t, because Ben can hear Sammy tossing and turning in the spare room (in _Sammy's room_, if he has any say in the matter) and Ben becomes all too aware of just how _well_ sound carries in here. Until he realises what noises Sammy can hear from _his_ room, if Ben can hear all of that from his.

Ben lays awake that night, staring at the ceiling with a dawning awareness that neither of them are going to have any real privacy anymore. He swallows hard and feels his cheeks heat, and he can’t help the ball of heat that settles and grows inside him at that thought. He can’t help but imagine some of his usual activities he’s sure to start up again, down the line, and how loud he can be, and how close Sammy is, next door and really only about ten feet away from him, close enough to hear _everything_…

Ben lets out a shaky breath, abs clenching as heat pulses between his legs, and thinks: _I'm so screwed._

_…poor choice of words, brain,_ he thinks next with a breathy laugh. _If only, hah._

Why the hell did he think he could manage to live with his best friend slash secret crush without his libido trying to wreck things?

* * *

About a week into their new living arrangement, Ben thinks _fuck it_, and decides he isn’t going to restrain himself if he wants to jerk off. So what if Sammy will absolutely hear him? So what. They’re both adult men and this stuff happens, it’s not weird, it's all perfectly natural and just, something that _happens_, okay, Ben doesn’t need to get all squeamish about it.

(He squeezes his eyes shut and breathes harder as he tries to convince himself that it’s _okay_. He can almost _feel_ Sammy’s ears tuned to him, knows his roommate can hear every sound he’s making, and all that does is make Ben harder, arousal burning hot and deep inside him, lighting his veins on fire and drawing the most wrecked whines and cries from his throat, which Sammy can _hear_ and the cycle loops and repeats until Ben can’t _stand it_ and comes harder than he ever has, so intense his vision whites out completely and he thinks he passes out for a minute. God. Fuck. He’s trembling like a leaf after and it takes ages to come down from that high, still all too aware that Sammy _heard_, wondering if he got anything out of it himself, if he’s touching himself to the sound of Ben’s pleasure, if he’s imagining what it would be like to return the favor, be as loud as he dares even though—because—Ben can hear him—

Sammy won’t look at him the next day, head ducked and hidden by his hair, but never enough to hide the deep blush on his cheeks. Ben feels a stab of pride and arousal and knows that he’s going to do this again.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy has a few thoughts on the matter.

Sammy can’t sleep and it’s all Ben’s fault.

He counts his breaths, tries to match the patterns – in 4, hold 7, out 8 – but his concentration breaks with every overheard gasp from across the hall. Every whimper and whine and sigh, and Sammy could pull the covers over his head, hide under the pillow, block the noise somehow—but he knows he won’t. His breath is shaky and his pulse races and he tries to stay still because every movement rubs maddeningly against his erection and send sparks up his spine and he _can’t_ do this. It’s not right. It can’t be right, no matter how desperately Sammy wants to give in, to reach down and take himself in hand, move along with the sounds he can hear, imagine what it would be like if Ben were here, writhing beside him, under him—

Sammy bites his pillow to silence a moan as he rolls over and ruts against his bed, so hard it’s almost _painful._

It wouldn’t be… so bad if he gave in, would it? Just this once. This is only effecting him this much because he hasn’t had a release in weeks, and if he takes care of this now, it’ll be fine. It’ll be fine.

Sammy groans as he shoves his hand down his pants, the first touch of skin on skin hot like fire, and he bucks frantically into his fist. He can still hear Ben, and he closes his eyes and pictures what he could be doing, what he might look like, and arousal twists sudden and fierce in his gut. His wrist jerks and he squeezes too tight but the sting rips a keen from his throat and he strokes faster. He’s so close, so deep into the pleasure that it doesn’t matter that his bed squeaks with every motion, that there’s no way Ben can’t hear this just as well as Sammy can hear him, and the very thought has his toes curling, his orgasm crashing over him like a tsunami, so strong he loses his voice and chokes from the intensity.

Aftershocks dance through his nerve endings. His spine is liquid and Sammy sinks into the mattress, body so high on the endorphins that he doesn’t even feel uncomfortable, laying with his arm folded awkwardly under him, semen drying cool and sticky in his boxers, on his hand. He sighs, utterly blessed out for the first time in, fuck, _months_, and decides to worry about all that _later._

He falls asleep in seconds.

* * *

The next morning, Sammy’s woken by the sounds of Ben walking around the apartment. He blinks blearily into the middle distance as his mind wakes up, and when it does and the memory of last night comes surging back, his face erupts in a furious blush. He bites back a groan, entirely mortified, and attempts to suffocate himself with his pillow.

It doesn’t work.

He grimaces when he extracts his hand from his pants, fingers sticky and tingling with pins and needles, numb up to his elbow and sore to his shoulder. Shame washes cold and thick down his spine, and Sammy tries not to look at his stained shorts as he kicks them off into a corner. He'll have to wash those, or throw them out, or _something_ but he can’t let Ben see them, can’t let him know that—what? That his best bro friend Sammy got off to the sound of him masturbating, that he’s some _creep_ who thinks about jumping his bones even though they’re both in committed relationships?

Fuck. This is a _mess._

He resolves to forget the whole thing, to go on pretending that he isn’t rapidly falling in love with his straight best friend, that everything is still 100% completely platonic and _normal._

That resolve crashes and burns the moment Sammy enters the kitchen to see Ben sitting at the table, hair a wild mess and skin flushed with the glow of the recently shagged. Ben grins at him when he sees him, and the curve of his lips hints at a knowing mischievousness that has blood rushing to Sammy’s face fast enough to leave him dizzy.

He ducks his head and prays to anything that’ll listen that his hair covers the undeniable evidence in his expression that he did something obscene last night. By the smirk he sees on Ben’s face out of the corner of his eye, no higher power holds any pity for him. 

Though, the confirmation that Ben knew what he was doing causes his heart to race. His hands shake as he makes his own breakfast and it’s only through sheer force of will that he doesn’t look at Ben as he does so, doesn’t give into the temptation to demand answers for all this. Did Ben plan this? Do it on purpose? Does he know that the sense-memory of last night is playing on a loop in Sammy’s head, steadily pulling him back towards the edge? Did he know how Sammy would react to him, that he'd be turned on by the sound of him losing himself? And if he knew—what does it mean that he still chose to act? What do the looks he gives Sammy now, when he thinks Sammy isn’t looking, actually mean?

Sammy knows that he _can_ ask these questions, that he _should_, but—it’s the mystery of it that makes heat pool dark and heavy inside him, and he doesn’t want to lose that feeling just yet.

They’re treading dangerous ground, and Sammy has never felt so _alive_.


End file.
